“I have spoken to you thus,” resumed he,
after a short pause, “because you are now of
an age to listen to the truth, and because I wished
you to understand the rules by which you are to regulate
your life. You have now arrived at years of discretion,
and must do of your own free will what you have up
to this time done at my bidding. This is all that
I have to say. To-morrow you will take twenty-five
sacks of wheat to the miller at Bevron.”

Like all tyrannical despots, the Duke never contemplated
for a moment the possibility of any one disobeying
his commands; yet at this very moment Norbert was
registering a solemn mental oath that he would never
carry out his father’s wishes. His anger,
which his fears had so long restrained, now burst
all bounds, and it was in the broad chestnut tree
avenue, behind the Chateau, far from any listening
ear, that he gave way to his despair. So long
as he had only looked upon his father as a mere miser,
he had permitted himself to indulge in hope; but now
he understood him better, and saw that life-long plans,
such as the Duke had framed, were not to be easily
overruled.

“My father is mad,” said he; “yes;
decidedly mad.”

He had made up his mind that for the present he would
yield to his despotism, but afterwards, in the future,
what was he to do?

It is an easy thing to find persons to give you bad
advice, and the very next day Norbert found one at
Bevron in the shape of a certain man called Daumon,
a bitter enemy of the Duke.

CHAPTER II.

A dangerousacquaintance.

Daumon was not a native of this part of the country,
and no one knew from whence he came. He said
that he had been an attorney’s clerk, and had
certainly resided for a long time in Paris. He
was a little man of fifty years of age, clean shaved,
and with a sharp and cunning expression of countenance.
His long nose, sharp, restless eyes, and thin lips,
attracted attention at first sight. His whole
aspect aroused a feeling of distrust. He had
come to Bevron, some fifteen years before, with all
his provisions in a cotton handkerchief slung over
his shoulder. He was willing to make money in
any way, and he prospered and rose. He owned
fields, vineyards, and a cottage, which is at the
juncture of the highway to Poitiers and the cross road
that leads to Bevron. His aim and object were
to be seen everywhere, to know everybody, and to have
a finger in every pie in the neighborhood around.
If any of the farmers or the laborers wanted small
advances, they went to him, and he granted them loans
at exorbitant rates of interest. He gave most
disputants counsel, and had every point of law at his
fingers’ ends. He could teach people how
to sail as close to the wind as possible, and yet
to be beyond the reach of the law. He affected
to be only too anxious to ameliorate the lot of the